Bachelor Father

With her skin becoming clammy and her heart pounding in her chest she said, “You want me to tell her I’m not her mother?”

“Yes. It’s the only way she’s going to accept that her mother is gone. She won’t listen to me.”

“But you’re her father.” Her legs grew weak beneath her and she reached for the desk to steady herself. “Surely she trusts you to tell her the truth?”

“It’s been a while since I saw her mother.”

She frowned. “But you do remember what she looked like?”

“Yes. She looked very much like you.”

The room began to spin and Adam’s voice grew fainter in her ears.

“That’s why I stared at you the way I did earlier this morning. For a moment, I thought you were Christie. I…”

Faith didn’t hear the rest of what he said because she was falling into darkness.

As she gradually regained consciousness, she heard a man’s voice calling her name. When she opened her eyes, Adam Novak and Mrs. Carmichael were at her side looking very anxious.

“Do you think we should take her to the E.R.?” the older woman asked Adam.

“No, I think she’s coming around,” he answered.

Faith’s first attempt at speaking resulted in silence. She wanted to tell them she was okay, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the words out.

“I’ll get a glass of water,” Mrs. Carmichael said before disappearing from the room.

As Faith tried to raise herself up, Adam lent her his arm. He felt solid and steady as she used it as a lever.

“Take it slow,” he warned, sliding his other arm around her.

She was tempted to sink back against him. He smelled good—like the forest after a rain—and he was looking at her as if she were a delicate piece of china that might break. A pleasant sensation rippled through her as she caught the look in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” she said, scrambling to her feet and away from his touch.

“You’d better sit for a few minutes,” he said, pushing a chair toward her.

Her legs still wobbly, she did as he suggested. When he hovered over her she said, “You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to do that again.”

“Maybe you should go to the E.R. and have a doctor look at you,” he suggested.

“I live with a doctor. I’ll tell him about it when I get home,” she told him, straightening her smock.

“How are you getting home? I don’t think you should travel alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” She wished he’d quit looking at her with those dark eyes of his.

Mrs. Carmichael returned with a glass of water, which Faith downed in one gulp.

“I don’t think you should go home unescorted.” Mrs. Carmichael echoed what Adam had said. “I’m going to call Dr. Carson to come pick you up.”

Faith didn’t protest, thinking it might be a good idea to talk to the doctor about what she’d just learned. While Mrs. Carmichael was on the phone, she turned to Adam.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I should visit Megan just yet,” she told him.

“No, of course not. You need to go home and take care of yourself. I would like to get this all taken care of before much longer, however. We need to put a stop to this fantasy she has that you’re her mother.”

She shook her head. “That might not be possible.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

Faith took a deep breath and said, “Because there’s a possibility I am her mother.”

ADAM STARED AT FAITH in disbelief. Either she hadn’t heard a word he had said or she truly was ill. He looked at her pale cheeks and her troubled eyes. “I think maybe you should get checked out in the E.R.”

“I told you I’m okay,” she insisted.

“Do you realize what you just said?”

She nodded. “I think I might be this Christie person.”

“No, you most definitely are not,” he stated emphatically. She didn’t look confused and he found his patience dwindling. “Are you playing some kind of game with me?”

“No. I’m just trying to tell you the truth.” There was a vulnerability about her that made it difficult for him to be suspicious of her, yet he didn’t understand what she was hoping to accomplish by saying that she might be Megan’s mother.

He reached for the other chair in the office and sat down in front of her. “Tell me why you would make such a statement.”

“A little over three weeks ago a doctor and his wife were traveling along Highway 52 just south of the cities when they saw me lying on the side of the road. I was unconscious and looked as if I’d been beaten,” she began. “Thanks to the kindness of Dr. Carson and his wife and the excellent medical attention I received, I regained consciousness and most of my injuries are healed. My hair covers the scar on my scalp.” She removed her smock and pushed back the sleeves of her shirt to show him her arms. “These are almost gone now, but you can still see where I was bruised.”

A shudder echoed through him at the sight of the areas of discoloration. It angered him to think that someone had assaulted her and left her to die on a roadside.

“I’m sorry. I hope they caught who did this to you.”

She shook her head and he felt a rush of emotion at the injustice. As she lowered her sleeves, he realized that there was another significant difference between her and Christie. Faith had larger breasts.

When she noticed where his eyes were focused she blushed. That was something Christie wouldn’t have done. As an exotic dancer she’d enjoyed the looks men cast her way.

Not wanting to make Faith uncomfortable, he asked, “Do you have any permanent damage?”

“One part of me didn’t recover,” she said. “For some reason—they think either a blow to my head or some other trauma—I’ve forgotten everything that happened prior to that night.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying you have amnesia?”

“The doctors say it’s retrograde, meaning I can’t remember anything of my past that took place before the accident, but I do remember everything that has happened since then,” she explained. “So what I was doing or where I was living…” She shrugged. “I just don’t know what that was…or where I was…or with whom.”

Adam found himself at a loss for words. He stared at her, thinking that she was putting two and two together and coming up with five. Even if she did have amnesia and even if she did look like Christie, it didn’t mean she was Megan’s mother. Mentally he noted the differences in the two women. The voice. The clothing. The jewelry. The figure.

“Because you can’t remember who you are does not make you Christie Anderson,” he stated firmly, as much for her sake as for his.